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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22531261">Prize Stud</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/ahimsabitches/pseuds/ahimsabitches'>ahimsabitches</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Mad Max Series (Movies)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Mad Max Fusion, Blood, Blowjobs, Breeding, F/M, Joe Moore before he was Immortan, Objectification, Pegging, Pulling teeth, Radiation Sickness, Violence, Warning: Immortan Joe, dubcon, femmedom</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-02-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-02-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-04-28 12:29:38</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>6,870</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/22531261</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/ahimsabitches/pseuds/ahimsabitches</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>In this Mad Max AU, Aunty Entity keeps a younger Col. Joe Moore as a breeding stud. He's her favorite and she visits him with a gift to show her favor, but Joe isn't as healthy as Aunty thinks he is. Written for the Mad for Straya Mad Max fandom fundraiser for Australian bushfire relief, at my sponsor's request!</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Aunty Entity/ Joe Moore</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Mad for ‘Straya</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Prize Stud</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/ravenousgrue/gifts">ravenousgrue</a>.</li>



    </ul></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Few in Bartertown could get far from the grunting, pungent aura of pigs.</p>
<p>Aunty Entity could, if she chose, but even her prize studs could not. The Studmaster's bootsteps close behind her, she strode across the swaying metal bridge connecting her chambers to the only other protected area in Bartertown: the huge, heat-warped bubble of glass and steel perched on top of the entrance to the Underworld.</p>
<p>The main door shut with a pneumatic wheeze. The air inside the Stud traded stink for humidity. Aunty marched down the hall, corrugated steel that bisected the Stud from east to west. As she passed each door, her armor shushing and boots thumping, a face eclipsed the sunlight streaming through the porthole. She made eye contact with every man. She was their Aunty after all, and she loved all of them.</p>
<p>The biggest suite lay at the back of the Stud like the pocket of air in an egg, closest to the dim, cacophonous belly of the Underworld. They reached the door, but no face peered out at her. Expected. Her favorite stud had a strong back and a sovereign mind, which is why he was her favorite.</p>
<p>They'd also chained him to the far wall.</p>
<p>With the hand not holding the plate of steaming pork, Arzu hauled the heavy steel door open. It went with an angry grating squeal, but neither Aunty nor the man standing in an authoritative, wide-legged stance in the middle of the room cringed.</p>
<p>Aunty sniffed a laugh as she dragged her gaze up from his bare feet to the thick shock of black hair on his head. “Feelin' bossy today, huh Joey?”</p>
<p>The man who'd roared up to Bartertown at the head of a scraggly pack of bikers brandishing patchwork guns, who'd killed the Collector for the egregious offense of existing in his direction, who'd made the mistake of thinking <em> Aunty </em> could be silenced for so trite a reason, who'd spit blood and promises that he'd rule the whole wasteland even as her best hog-wrestlers dragged him into the 'Dome, stood in the middle of his cell with his barrel chest stuck out, his hands chained behind his back, and said nothing.</p>
<p>“I recommend an attitude adjustment,” she sing-songed, shaking the bundle of leather straps in her hand, the buckles jingling like keys waved in front of a toddler’s face. “Your Aunty comes with gifts.”</p>
<p>His eyes flicked down to the harness and the carven dildo depending from it, then flicked over to the tin of pig grease in her other hand. When he met her gaze again, the blue blades of his eyes were sharp with understanding, suspicion, <em> anger </em>. But no uncertainty. Always so sure of himself, was her favorite stud.</p>
<p>Without breaking eye contact, Aunty lifted her chin toward Arzu. The massive mohawked woman set the plate of pork up on a high shelf out of Joe's reach, and moved smoothly past her to undo the drawstring of the only garment he wore: a ratty, threadbare pair of trousers. Muscles twitching under sunbrowned skin, Arzu shucked the trousers off Joe's thick, hairy legs. Like a horse at the farrier, he lifted each foot in turn so Arzu could pull the trousers off his ankles and inspect his feet at the same time. With efficiency born of old habit, she peered and squeezed and poked her way up his body, looking for the weeping sores or unhealing bruises that would tell them the pox-eclipse had gotten him. When she reached the belt that snarled his groin in an expertly-welded cage of Thunderdome scrap, she glanced a question back at Aunty: <em> you wanna do this part? </em></p>
<p>Aunty pursed her lips and shook her head. <em> I trust you. </em></p>
<p>Arzu grunted and unhooked a rusty keyring from her belt. There were two locks on Joe's cock-cage, as there were on all studs': one to remove it and one to expand it. Arzu slid the key, no more than a notched steel stick, into this second lock by his inner thigh. A spring launched the expansion outward with a jerky <em>klik-snikt </em>and now Joe had a bulbous steel erection. The expanded belt gave Arzu enough room to appraise Joe's cock and balls and find nothing untoward. On one knee, Arzu glared up at Joe and rotated her finger. Joe turned, the chain depending from his wrists clattering against the smooth steel floor.</p>
<p>Aunty had taken up the rugs after Joe had unwound one and worked it into a rope with which he fuck-near killed her previous Studmaster.</p>
<p>Arzu pulled Joe's round ass apart like a book. “You fart in my face again, I pull off all your fingernails,” she growled up at Joe's back, then dipped her head down to inspect his hole and taint.</p>
<p>Aunty chuckled and glanced at the long pink scar that wormed down Joe's left shoulderblade. Oh how he’d <em>bled</em>.</p>
<p>Arzu rocked to her feet like a scarred she-bear bedecked in leather and dully gleaming metal. She pawed at Joe, turning him as she surveyed the rest of him.</p>
<p>Aunty conducted her own inspection, like she did every time. Arzu's duty was to look for damage; Aunty's privilege was to appreciate her own good judgment.</p>
<p>Her prize stud's chest and arms were broad and well-made, his belly still proud with muscle despite the white coming in at his temples and in his twenty-day growth of beard. His hair curled thick and dark on his head, chest, arms, legs, and groin. He did have a bit of a babyface, though. Made it impossible to keep a straight face thinking of him as Big Honcho of the wasteland. The puffy cheeks and the boy-chin fit oddly on top of a body built for war, but the thunderous shelf of brow made stormy promises the hateful blue lightning in his eyes told her he could keep.</p>
<p>And so she appreciated her own good judgment in chaining his hands to the wall.</p>
<p>Arzu clomped toward the door and flipped Aunty a thumbs-up as she passed: <em> clean as a whistle. </em></p>
<p>Aunty thanked her with a nod. “Stay by,” she said. “But go turn up the fans first.” </p>
<p>The door squalled again; a swirl of air slapped them both with hogstink, and Arzu was gone.</p>
<p>Aunty dropped her chin from its proud queen-carriage and graced him with an intimate smile. “I'm proud of you, Joey, you know it?”</p>
<p>Joe tracked her with the avidity of a starving snake as she sauntered over to a folding chair and sat. Its back wobbled like a rotten tooth and its legs had rickets but it held her. She draped the hand holding the strap-on over her lap so Joe could see everything he had in store. The dildo was her favorite: long and thick enough to fill the bigger studs, head carved in smooth curves, veins done in lovely detail.</p>
<p>“You been real good to me since you got here, and it's time you know it straight from the Honcho's mouth. Your fat slave? The one that wouldn't shut up? Made ‘im my new Collector a while back. Since you blew the other one's brains all over the books. I guess I should thank you for that too; the new one’s <em> muuuuch </em>better than the old one.”</p>
<p>Joe's eyes narrowed.</p>
<p>“And your triggerman too, he's wise about machines. Gonna help me get what I need to finally grind Master-Blaster into swill.” Auntie tapped the tin of pig grease against her mailed knee. It made a soft, hypnotic <em> chk chk chk </em> sound. “As for <em> you </em> , my big warrior-bull,” Auntie raised the hand that held the harness and stuck a finger out at him, “you impressed me in the 'Dome and I wanted to keep you there at first; won't lie. But then I thought better. And so did <em> you. </em> ” She panned her gaze across Joe's suite to indicate his current station. “You did the right thing. My generals report healthy get from you. More from <em> you </em> than any of my other studs.”</p>
<p>Joe took a long breath that swelled his chest.</p>
<p>“Mhm, four li'l blackhaired babies an' another couple on the way. One's gonna have your eyes; I just <em> know </em> it. Mama's pale as a piglet's bel--”</p>
<p>“Boys or girls?”</p>
<p>Aunty had heard some men sing in the ancient way: in two voices that recalled a high, craving wind and the immortal thunder of war machines that marched beneath it. Joe's voice sent a chilly skitter up her spine not because he'd sung, but his voice had reached her ears split a similar way: a quiet lilting purr laid over a tyrant's full-chested command.</p>
<p>Her smile tightened into the edge of a snarl. “Don't mistake praise for license, stud.”</p>
<p><em> Chk, chk, chk, </em>went tin against chainmail. The only other sound in the room for another few beats was the distant squeal and roar of pigs. A breeze, warm and fetid as morning-breath, fluttered a lock of Joe's hair across his face. Aunty glanced up at the ragged, head-sized hole in the steel ceiling, covered by a slanted grate. The air blowing from it began to cool. Arzu must have had to haggle with Master-Blaster about the fans.</p>
<p>Refocusing on Joe, still standing in a ready-stance at the end of his chain, Aunty stood and took a step toward him. “The men down at Pine Gap believe the key to the future’s more of what happened in the past, but they don’t know shit ‘cause they’re too busy fuckin’ their own nukes. And that mishmash pack a’ kids at the edge of that little pond a few clicks from here may think they found themselves a sweeter Eden than this one, but you and me both know that water they’re drinkin ain’t gonna be sweet for much longer. So I reckon I got about the sweetest Eden this side of the Salt.” She raised her arms, palms up. “Aunty’s game’s the only game in town if you play to survive, you get me, Joey? And I don’t just mean to survive. I mean to <em> rebuild </em> . And in my Eden, Joey…” She took another step toward him, “You’re my best Adam. Your seed trades well. <em> Really </em> well. <em> Eeeeeverybody </em> wants them a blue-eyed baby.” Aunty gazed down her nose at the cage between Joe's legs and saw that his cock was now filling much more of it than it had before. Had a bit of a praise kink, did her favorite stud. Loved to hear how <em> important </em>he was, did her favorite stud.</p>
<p>She stepped closer still, her grin growing more teeth. “You've made me proud, and you deserve a <em> treat </em> .” Him in bare feet and her in boots, they stood nose to nose. Aunty's tongue poked out from between her teeth in a reptilian tease. “Gonna breed you myself,” Aunty said, “and this batch'll go to General Tushka herself. She wants twins and <em> you're </em> gonna give 'em to her. Think you can pull that off, stud?”</p>
<p>“Bring her in here and I'll show you both what I can <em> pull off</em>.” Joe's voice was the rev of a V-8 engine rendered verbal. The blue of his eyes boomed.</p>
<p>Anger knotted in her chest like a writhing snake. She sniffed a disdainful chuckle. “Teach that foolish tongue to behave, <em> boy </em>, or I'll pull it out, salt it, and make you swallow it.” She spun on her heel away from him.</p>
<p>The south end of Joe's suite, which contained a desk and another chair, abutted another stud's rooms and could be screened off by a sliding accordion aperture made of holey leather and steel tubing. The north end looked out over the Underworld. Aunty moved toward this side and the riveted joint between steel and glass that ran from floor to ceiling, into the rest of the Stud. Two small shelves stuck out of the dirty steel like square tongues; on one rested the plate of pork Joe had either not noticed or purposefully ignored. The other held a contraption that bore a bastard's resemblance to his cock-cage. Instead of a cock, it contained a piece of hog leather, supple from use, with a discolored plastic bladder attached to one end. Aunty deposited the strap-on and grease onto the chair she'd just occupied, took the catcher down and, in a series of deft movements, turned a latch that irised the front of Joe's belt open, clipped the catcher to the belt, and tucked Joe's cock-- hot and dry and hard as a board-- into the hogskin. The bladder crowning the arrangement made it look like Joe's cock was blowing a sickly bubble in its cage. Aunty adjusted the pigskin like a mother fussing over her child's schoolclothes; Joe's cock, even rampant, did not fill it all the way and she wanted to catch every last bit of his seed. Joe was a pain in her ass, but he made strong babies who didn’t kill their mothers on the way out. </p>
<p>Joe's breath was hot and bullish on her neck, strong enough to make her heavy earring pat her jaw. He strained against his chains, made the joint by his bed moan. Aunty only ever touched his cock, but she could feel the ravenous heat of his muscles thrumming like machinery only an inch from her. Only an inch and trust in a chain between her and the full fury of her favorite bull, the one with the booming blue eyes and the sovereign mind.</p>
<p>“It would be so easy,” Joe rumbled in her ear, “to rip y--”</p>
<p>The meaty <em> thwop </em> of Aunty's mailed fist connecting with Joe's jaw echoed in the egg-shaped room. Joe, flung sideways, uttered a strangled bark and landed hard on one knee.</p>
<p>Heart galloping in her chest, she fought shock off her face. “I <em> told </em> you, stud, you don't get to...” She trailed off; through the thick, greasy curtain of his hair, she saw his mouth gaped open like he wanted to puke and his eyes screwed shut, deep wrinkles fanning out from the corners.</p>
<p>She thought: <em> trap. </em> Joe had barely flinched when Arzu's heavy hogwhip had laid his shoulder open to the bone.</p>
<p>“Whatsa matter, Joey?” she leaned down beyond his reach, hands on her knees, chainmail rustling. “Jaw go to glass on ya?”</p>
<p>Joe knelt, panted, said nothing. A hair-thin trickle of blood deposited a shiny red circle onto the steel below Joe's face. The next drop was bigger and threaded with delicately clotted pus.</p>
<p>Aunty blinked. Hard to fake <em> that </em> . She pawed the hair out of his face and pulled his chin toward her. One eye rolled up to meet hers and she ignored the radioactive fury in it. Like the Hogmaster checking tusks, she lifted Joe's lips with her thumbs and found the source of both blood and pus: an angry purple swelling on Joe's bottom jaw beneath his left eyetooth. The bicuspid next to it had gone black with rot. Aunty's hit had busted the abscess open; dark, burning blood and globby-creamy pus oozed over his lips onto her thumb. It smelled like the ass-end of a dying sow. She poked the rotten tooth. It was sickeningly loose. “Well <em> shit </em>,” She sighed.</p>
<p>Without warning, she snatched the rotten tooth out of his jaw. There was less resistance in the tooth than there had been in dandelions she'd pulled out of the ground as a child, but it sounded the same, like a wet seam purring apart.</p>
<p>“<em>Fuuggg</em>,<em>” </em> Joe gurgled. He folded forward, blood drizzling like dog drool from his mouth.</p>
<p>“That's downright <em> troublesome</em>, Joey,” Aunty chided, examining the tooth pinched between two fingers. Even covered in blood, Aunty could see black rot in the eroded root. “Arzu?”</p>
<p>“Yes, Aunty?” called a sonorous voice from right outside the door.</p>
<p>“When I get done here we're gonna do teeth inspections.”</p>
<p>A beat. “Yes, Aunty.”</p>
<p>She'd have to get Patchimup in here; she wasn't learned in disorders of the mouth. Hopefully the abscess had caused the tooth rot, and that was all there was. She placed the tooth on the shelf next to the plate of pork and put the worry out of her mind. Her favorite stud was still obviously in his prime; he healed well and his get was consistently healthy. That meant one very important thing: the pox-eclipse had not touched him. He could help her fix what was broken in the world, one little sky-eyed baby at a time.</p>
<p>“I know it hurts,” she cooed, pulling off her chainmail gloves. Blood and pus netted the tiny links on three of the fingers now. They'd need cleaning. “I got me a one missin' too, see?” She hooked a finger into the corner of her lip and pulled it back in a wolfish snarl, showing a gap between two top molars that Joe did not raise his head to see. She unclipped each heavy epaulette from her shoulders and hung them on one of the hooks by the door. “But you're still my favorite, Joey, don't you worry. I came here to treat you right, and one little rotted tooth ain't gonna change my mind.” Her mailed dress and greaves dropped to the floor with a metallic <em> ssshhhk! </em> Joe remained as he was, breathing and bleeding, his forehead kissing the bare steel floor. “You can be a pain in my ass sometimes, but... that's why I like ya.” She skinned off the thin, soft pigskin underthings she wore to protect her from the chafing mail and laid them in place of the strap-on and grease tin she'd left on the chair earlier. “You think yourself a big man. Lotsa men 'round here do; that's what the Thunderdome is for.” Naked but for her favorite mail-covered boots, she buckled the harness on. “But unlike the men who spill what bigness they might or might not have in the 'Dome-dirt, you know how to be <em> smart </em> about it.”</p>
<p>Joe raised his head slowly, his hair wild around his face. Hectic patches of red bloomed high on his cheeks and sweat beaded on his forehead and temples. Blood oozed down his jaw in velvety ropes.</p>
<p>Harness buckled under her thighs and across her hips, the little plastic nub on the inside resting comfortably against her clit, she knelt by him, the smooth pink stone dildo six inches below his bloody chin. “<em> You </em> spill your bigness where it counts, you know it?” She winked. “And boy, Joey, you sure do have a <em> lot </em> of bigness to go around.” She favored him with another indulgent grin and brushed a gentle hand across his face, avoiding the blood on his chin. A quick glance between his legs confirmed that his hardon, if it had ever left, was back again.</p>
<p>Her favorite bull had a bit of a praise kink. <em> Important Joey. </em></p>
<p>Keeping one hand on Joe's cheek, Aunty rose and angled the dildo toward his mouth. “I'm gonna treat you right, because you been a good boy for your Aunty. Now, get it ready.”</p>
<p>For another few beats, nothing moved except the breeze from the fan playing in their hair. Joe poked his bloody tongue out and licked the dildo's carven head, as if testing its taste.</p>
<p>“That's right, Joey. Get it good n' slick.” Aunty plunged her fingers into the hair at the back of his head and shoved his face into her outthrust hips. Joe's knees stuttered on the steel as he struggled to rebalance himself without his hands.</p>
<p>“Shh, it's okay, Joey, I gotcha,” she cooed, tightening her grip on his hair. “You just let your Aunty be good to you now.”</p>
<p>What she hadn't told Joe, and wouldn't, was that she was being good to <em> herself </em> too. She didn't get to appreciate her studs firsthand much anymore, <em> especially </em> the sight of one on his knees like this, on his knees needing his Aunty. She grinned and fucked his face-- <em> gently</em>, because of the missing tooth-- and listened to his breath hissing fast through his nose and the grunts of pain he couldn't quite suppress when her cock hit the raw spot in his mouth. That more than the nub on the inside of the harness nudging her clit on every thrust filled her belly with warm pleasure. “You're such a good boy, takin' Aunty's cock even with a hole in your jaw.” She swept his tangled hair back from his face with both hands and angled her hips so that the dildo would force his chin up. “Look at me.”</p>
<p>He did. A scrim of pink foam had formed in the salt-and-pepper stubble around his lips and his eyes were twin blue cannon bores. He looked less like a man sucking cock and more like a rabid feral on its last few brain cells stealing mouthfuls of gristle from the abattoir. Aunty let out a deep-rolling chuckle and stroked the side of his bristly face. “Joey baby, you look s'damn <em> good </em> like that.” She slid her cock back into his mouth, hit soft resistance. Kept pushing. Hit hard resistance. Held his head there, both hands clawed at the back of his head. “Come on, Joey, get it niiiice 'n slick, come on,” she murmured. Joe was being <em> stubborn </em> so she twitched her hips forward, nothing more than a tensing of muscles, and his broad back convulsed. </p>
<p><em> “Hgggrlk!” </em> He gagged on Aunty's stone cock. The sound was soupy and visceral and it made Aunty's heart soar. </p>
<p>“<em>Good </em> boy,” Aunty released his head and stepped back. A thick pink rope of saliva stretched from the end of her cock to his bottom lip, split, flung itself to the floor between his knees. She took the tin of grease from the chair, popped it open, and turned to Joe again.</p>
<p>He'd <em> sassed </em> her and so had lost even the slim chance of getting out of his chains. That limited how she could have him. She glanced at his bed: a thin, stained mattress with several thin, stained pillows and thin, stained blankets on a scrap-metal frame which he'd shoved all the way over to the far corner of the room. She glanced behind her, to the steel-side of the room. She glanced over Joe's shoulder, to the glass-side. And smiled.</p>
<p>“On your feet, stud,” she said, not unkindly. “Let's look at the pigs.”</p>
<p>Still drooling spit and blood, Joe jerked to his feet, grimacing in pain. For the second time, unease bloomed cool and heavy at the bottom of Aunty’s brain. What was it <em> this </em> time? Was there an abscess hidden in some other flesh? Was there rot in a bone she could not pull out?</p>
<p>
  <em> No. There’d be signs. Bruises, sores. Arzu cleared him. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> But Arzu missed the tooth... </em>
</p>
<p>Aunty cleared her head with one sharp snap. Her earrings stung her cheeks. The pain helped. Joe's pain clearly hadn't been enough to <em> dampen his spirits </em>, and that helped more. She set her jaw and surged forward, snatching a handful of Joe's hair as she went. Joe's chain scraped across the floor. They reached the wall in three strides and Aunty shoved Joe's head down. </p>
<p>The pigs and their keepers milled around in the stink and the dark, oblivious to Joe's face pressed against the glass twenty feet above them.</p>
<p>No, she thought to herself as she scooped grease out of the tin with two fingers, no, it wasn't the pox-eclipse or sybil-itis or <em> anything </em> except a janked-up knee. He <em> did </em> already have some white coming in; Patchimup said studs his age were at the end of their usefulness, not at its peak.</p>
<p>“Gettin' old's a privilege few ever have anymore, Joey, you know it?” She asked his bent back as she painted his asshole with grease. “But in this too, you're blessed. I'm gonna make sure Bartertown's streets feel the pitter-patter of your little blue-eyed babies' feet for a <em> loonnnngg </em> time yet.” She tossed the tin onto Joe's bed, wiped the excess grease off on Joe's right asscheek, and positioned herself so that the spit-and-blood-slicked dildo nudged his hole. “I'll go extra slow, but you don't need much of a warm-up, do ya? Not you, my <em> good boy </em> .” She laid a benevolent hand in the V Joe’s shackled wrists made on his back. The muscles there were taut as steel cables. She drew her hand down the valley of his spine over his hands fisted together, and eased her hips forward. The head of her cock slid into his puckered asshole almost <em> too </em>easily, and she laughed, the last of the worry lifting from her chest.</p>
<p>Joe's breath didn't even hitch until her cock was all the way in. She paused, buried to the hilt, and let him adjust. “Good, Joey?”</p>
<p>“Just get it done, you trumped-up piece of roadslag,” Joe rasped. His voice was one stone ground against another.</p>
<p>From anyone else in Bartertown, a word-bullet like that would have earned them a much sharper, much more <em> on-fire </em> thing shoved up their ass. But Aunty only smiled. If Joe had been able to see it, he would have recognized it immediately: the small, keen smile of a hunter marking prey that doesn't yet know it's been marked. “Snake's head can still bite,” Aunty mused as she pulled out, “wounded mouth can still sass, huh? Guess I gotta try fuckin’ the sass outta you.” She hooked her hands into the crease between Joe's thighs and his waist and eased into him again, rolling her hips experimentally to press the knob against her clit. It took a few tries to find the right angle, but once she found it, the warm red coal in her belly lit brightly enough to send a tingly ripple of pleasure all the way up her spine. It melted against the bottom of her brain and made her moan. She let her head fall back and gazed up at the patchwork steel ceiling, the sun slashing a faded zig-zag diagonal as it struggled in between the struts. The knot where Joe's belly-muscles attached to his hips tensed under her hands every time she pulled out, as if it was painful to go without her cock filling him even for a moment.</p>
<p>As if it was painful to be without his Aunty's attention, his Aunty's love, even for a moment.</p>
<p>“My favorite, my good Joey,” she breathed, painting every hill and divot on his body with her gaze. It was simply marvelous that he'd made it this far, with so few scars, so much of his will left indomitable by the cataclysms that had turned the world into a million daily cataclysms, a million daily shatterings that were almost impossible to endure without losing pieces of yourself. And over time, if you lost enough pieces and didn't know what to replace them with, the wasteland would take you for its all and its own. The sun boiled your eyes and bleached your brain and your skin turned to wind and when you opened your mouth you heaved up hateful desert, and you lost yourself to the negation of everything that had ever been, the zero-sum that was now all there would be.</p>
<p>But not <em> her</em>, and not <em> him</em>. She liked him because both their spines were steel and would not be shattered. She liked him most of all for the one mistake he <em> had </em>made: assuming that fate, too, had been strong enough to last through the bombs. He and his pack of killer-men had roared up to Bartertown horny for their own guns, a raggedy road-gang with too little respect for the desert's diamondbacked will and too much trust in their blue-eyed honcho who had forgotten how easily zero could reassert itself in the integers of men.</p>
<p>“I built this place from nothing,” Aunty panted, the liquid roll of her hips becoming tense and insistent as the ball of pleasure in her belly grew. “And I know how bad you want it, Joey, I sure do.”</p>
<p>His hands, bound at the wrists and fisted right above the dimples that marked where his back ended and his ass began, grew white at the knuckles. Sweat trickled down Aunty's temple and slipped into her grin. She welcomed the taste, because she was <em> hungry. </em>Hungry for Joe's ragged, hitching gasps, for the streaks of blood and sweat and spit he left on the glass. She drank in these favorite sensations from her favorite stud and felt pleasure brighten in her belly.</p>
<p>“Aunty knows what you dream about, what you ache for.” She slammed into him, giving her clit a lovely jolt with the harness and forcing Joe's face against the glass with a comical <em> skrrk! </em> He tried to growl, but it came out a muffled groan. She paused with the head of her cock barely inside him. “Aunty knows what makes your blood rise and your toes curl, what makes you lie awake at night with your brain spinning so fast you forget who you are and your dick so hard you rut against the steel for relief.” She thrust again, making both of them cry out. She'd chased the orgasm to the edge of endurance, but knew it would be better if she waited. So she grabbed a fistful of his hair and hauled him upright. Her inflexible stone cock drew a gravelly groan from Joe's chest as it rearranged his guts. His back pressed against her belly and her bared teeth scraped his sweaty, bloodstreaked throat. His body was tight and <em> burning </em> against hers. She sucked in a breath of him, heavy and pungently male, sour with new blood, old sweat, and ruined fury. “You wanna <em> kill me, </em> don't you, <em> stud </em> ?” She hissed into his ear, his greasy hair tickling her nose. “You wanna <em> kill me </em> n' take Bartertown for your all and your own, because you believe you're <em> owed it, </em> right, Joey? That's what you said to me when you n' your boys rode up to my gates, wasn't it?”</p>
<p>Joe's barrel chest heaved; his adams-apple bobbed as he swallowed. Having him this close was dangerous. Even without his hands he could possibly knock her down and get his teeth into her before Arzu could peel him off; she'd seen how fucking <em> dirty </em> he'd fought in the 'Dome.</p>
<p>But she knew how <em> important </em>he thought he was, which was why he would not hurt her. He knew what would happen if he drew even a drop of blood on his Aunty, and he couldn't be Important Joey if he was dead. </p>
<p>She slid her free hand up around his chin, into the slick of blood and spit there. “Tell your Aunty now, Joey, tell me what you want most.”</p>
<p>Joe spoke through bared teeth, nothing of the soft, lulling purr in his voice now. “I want to fuck you until you puke my come. I want to slit your throat and stuff your guts with pigshit, roast you, and feed your diseased corpse to your precious generals. I want to throw you down to those disgusting pigs and watch them trample you, eat you, and fuck over your puddled entrails. I want to cave your skull in with your own ribs. I want to drag you in front of the entire town, scoop both of your eyes out, fuck the holes, and watch you die screaming while your own brains leak out of your mouth.” He twisted his head, locking one of his wide, wild sky-scream eyes with hers. “I want to burn this place to sand and salt the ashes. I want to <em> burn </em> every <em> trace </em> of you off this earth.”</p>
<p>Aunty oiled against him, moaning as if in a paroxysm of pleasure. “Mmmmm, I <em> love </em> dirty talk,” she purred and licked a thick wet stripe up his neck, over a frantically pulsing vein, and tasted copper and salt. Joe growled; the sound frayed into a harsh cough as Aunty's cock mushed his guts again. She fucked him in quick, brutal snaps of her hips, grinding her cock into his ass and relishing the stimulation this new angle gave her clit. The orgasm she'd banished to the distance came galloping back on the heels of Joe's gasping groans. She knew what they meant. Her heart surged with victory and she grinned a wolfish grin against Joe's neck, ignoring the way his double fists punched her belly every time she thrust. “Yes baby <em> yes, </em> come for Aunty, come for me, stud, make me those blue-eyed babies, come on...”</p>
<p>As if he'd been hog-shocked, Joe's entire body snapped rigid and Aunty felt his leonine roar vibrating between his back and her chest. Joe shivering apart in her arms ended her endurance; she threw her head back and bellowed as the orgasm, bright and savage, seared her nerves and blasted a buzzing white nothingness into her brain.</p>
<p>Pleasure ebbed like a gently pulsing tide. Her hand slid off his bloody neck, down his heaving, hairy chest and across his belly. She patted it-- <em> good boy </em>-- and pulled out. As if holding a venomous snake by its jaws, she stepped back until the only part of her touching him was her hand in his hair. She released her grip, the joints in her fingers creaking rustily.</p>
<p>“Let's see,” she said, eyeing the plastic bulb on the end of the catcher attached to his belt. His cock had deflated some already, leaving the pigskin sheath free enough to slip off. Like a triumphant scientist examining a beaker, she raised the pigskin into the last remaining stripe of sunlight in the room.. The bulb at the bottom, which had once been a baby-bottle nipple, was full. She flashed a toothy grin at Joe, aware that she wore smears of his blood on her lips and cheek like warpaint.</p>
<p>Still panting lightly, Joe stood now as he'd stood when she'd first entered the room: still and silent, in a wide-legged fighting stance, glaring at her from between curtains of long, unwashed crowblack hair. He'd been used a little roughly between then and now, of course, and Aunty, her brain pleasantly slow for the moment and her chest full of warm pink afterglow, brushed an apologetic hand across his cheek. “My poor stud, you been such a good boy for your Aunty. Let's get you cleaned up and that hole in your mouth took care of. Arzu!”</p>
<p>The door hollered; Arzu clomped into the room. Her dark, hooded gaze brushed over Joe's bloody face, then flicked to Aunty, a question in the lift of one pierced eyebrow. Aunty caught, and chose to ignore, Arzu's eyes lingering on her bare brown chest for a fraction too long.</p>
<p>“Rotten tooth,” Aunty said and retrieved it from the shelf. The blood on it had mostly dried to dark maroon flakes.</p>
<p>“Ah,” Arzu nodded, stowing the tooth in a pocket on her leather shirt and the pigskin with Joe's seed in a pouch on her belt. “Why you wanted teeth inspections.” She reached into another pouch on one of the two belts slung across her massive chest and pulled out a long strip of clean white linen. While Aunty unbuckled the harness, Arzu scrubbed the blood off Joe's face and neck.</p>
<p>“I want Patchimup in here too,” Aunty said, nodding toward Joe. “It wasn't just a rotten tooth; there was an abscess. Wanna make sure there's nothing else wrong. Nothing... deep-wrong.”</p>
<p>“Yes, Aunty.”</p>
<p>For a few moments, the only sounds were jingling metal: Aunty's mail and Joe's chain. The last of the afterglow-peace left Aunty; she mourned it as her mind turned to the world outside the glass-and-steel suite, which was downright cool by now, thanks to the fans.</p>
<p><em> Only the best for my studs, </em>she congratulated herself. Dressed, she took down the plate of cooked pork-- only the best for her best-- and turned back to Joe and Arzu.</p>
<p>“Fuckin' shit, forgot this bull's a hell of a bleeder,” Arzu grunted. “The other ones don't do this, do they?” Arzu swiped the linen, limp and soggy and red, across Joe's chest. Smudges of old maroon blood mixed in with fresh red ones among the stubble on his cheeks and chin. He licked his lips. His tongue painted them red.</p>
<p>At first, Aunty thought the mark high on Joe's ribs, obscured by his arm until Arzu had lifted it to get a better angle, was more blood. But it was too dark, too <em> big, </em>too much like...</p>
<p>Everything in Aunty screamed to a stop.</p>
<p>“<em> Arzu </em>,” she commanded. Her voice boomed against the struts. Arzu spun, her brown eyes wide. Like a reaper marking its next victim, Aunty raised her arm and pointed at the spot on Joe's ribs. Arzu followed Aunty's finger. Looked. Leaned forward, Squinted. Touched.</p>
<p>Heaved a long, heavy sigh. “Ah <em> fuck </em>.”</p>
<p>As quickly as it had ceased, Aunty's brain revved up into a burning storm. Blood roared past her ears. She forced her breath steady even though her heart had curled into a ball of molten fury in her chest.</p>
<p>
  <em> “So few true-clean ones left now,” Patchimup had said, elbow-deep in the velvet-dark guts of the last stud, half Joe’s age, who’d come down with the pox-eclipse. “You can’t always see with some of ‘em. Dependin’ on where they were… what kind of dose they got… how long it lasted, you may not know for years. We all got dosed, y’know...” </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> She’d seen his next words in his eyes, so she’d shut him up--saved his life-- with a backhand to his jaw that had brought only a tiny flower of blood to the corner of his mouth. </em>
</p>
<p>The plate of pork still in her left hand, she crossed the space between her and Joe in two strides and yanked the sawed-off shotgun from Arzu's belt.</p>
<p>“Uh,” Arzu said.</p>
<p>Lips curled back from teeth in a bitter parody of the indulgent smiles she'd wasted on him earlier, Aunty shoved the gun's twin barrels into Joe's mouth. His eyes were shrieking blue holes. She pulled the trigger.</p>
<p>The sound blasted Aunty's ears and chest like one giant burning fist, but she did not flinch.</p>
<p>Joe did.</p>
<p>His head flipped backward as if his neck were spring-loaded. The shot flung him to the floor with a flat, meaty sound that called up an old buried memory of fish.</p>
<p>In the shrill sonic aftermath of the shot, Aunty straddled Joe's limp form, naked but for the spidery metal contraption still strapped to his hips, and glared hotly down her nose at the ragged red hole that had bloomed where his bottom jaw and neck used to be. Teeth like lost stones lay scattered in the chewed-up ruin of his face. His eyes bugged in fishy shock. As she watched, black consumed blue until there was nothing left of those sky-scream eyes but a ring around the black so thin she couldn't tell what color it was.</p>
<p>Arzu's voice, muffled, on her left. She turned. Half of her Studmaster's face, open in surprise, was flecked with blood. It beaded in her thick eyebrows like dew, and Aunty thought she was beautiful.</p>
<p>“...might've been nothing, Aunty. Why'd you...?”</p>
<p>“Exactly,” Aunty purred, arranging a neutrally pleasant expression on her face. “He was nothing.”</p>
<p>Without giving Arzu a chance to reply, Aunty spun and ripped the door open. Thick, wet heat and the renewed sounds of hogs assaulted her. “Send the body to Patchimup,” she called back over her shoulder. I want a full fuckin' autopsy! Good parts go to the hogs. Bad parts burn! Take his last seed to General Tushka but warn her he was poxed before you give it to her!”</p>
<p>Crossing the swinging bridge between the Stud and the stairs that would take her down into town, she realized two things: first, she hadn’t killed him because he was sick. Or not <em> just </em> because of that.</p>
<p>She’d killed him for a simple, wretched reason: she’d been waiting for an excuse. No amount of trust in his chain and his own sense of importance could dull the knowledge that her favorite stud wanted her dead and the only way to stop <em> that </em> was to stop <em> him </em>. She’d killed him because unlike him, Aunty understood how quick and vicious luck could be when it decided to turn its coat; how bitter its boot could taste as it kicked you back down zero's throat.</p>
<p>And second, she’d lied a little. Her Joey wasn't <em> quite </em> nothing; at least some of him would endure. Endure as long as it took her hogs to chew him up, swallow him, churn him in their guts, and shit him out. Even after that, she supposed some scavenger would find a use for him.</p>
<p>“How d'you like that, <em> Important Joey </em>?” She asked the plate of pork still in her hand, inspecting it carefully for a piece that didn't have blood on it. “All that hot air you blew when you first got here'll go to powerin' Bartertown. And some poor soul will warm his bones with the parts of you got shit out a hog's ass.”</p>
<p>Few in Bartertown could get far from the grunting, pungent aura of pigs. Aunty could, if she chose. But Joe, for whom zero had permanently asserted itself, was about to get as close as anyone ever could.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Note on radiation exposure: I took some artistic liberties with the symptoms of long-term low-dose radiation for the sake of the story. It likely would not manifest any of Joe's main symptoms except an immune deficiency that could have allowed the abscess in his mouth. Skin lesions like Joe's are a symptom of acute radiation sickness, NOT the low-grade chronic exposure Joe's been under. But the funny thing about radiation exposure is that there are so many variables, nobody can ever really nail down a list of symptoms and how they progress with any kind of consistency, so you never know.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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